Naked Truths
by Amber Everfor
Summary: Another selection from Wanted, a version of Snow White. In search for missing princess, Prince Erik has an amorous reunion with a wayward royal from his father's kingdom and learns his own history as well as that of the "beautiful, bawdy" princess


Eric had finally made his way to the White Valley, to be wished Godspeed by the king in the search for his daughter.

He'd learned she was a full fair maiden, so if he did happen to find her, marriage wouldn't be a drudgery. The regulars in the local tavern had told him she was not only beautiful, but she wasn't modest in showing it. They'd spoken of long legs and deep cleavage and an ass it was fair hard not to touch when she bent over.

"She opened her shutters when she bathed," said a tall man who said he had spent the previous summer repairing the parapets at the castle. "I had the feeling she knew I could see her. If I live another thirty years, I won't ever see anything like her bare self again. Put my wife to shame. She's still lovely but when I lay with her, I think of the princess."

"I saw her with nothing on top soon before she disappeared," said a younger, unbearded man drinking the ale Eric bought for him. "She trained with a sword and knives. Did you know that?" Eric shook his head and poured more into the man's tankard, urging him to continue.

"I was in the woods, lookin' to pot a rabbit or two, and I heard a girl's grunts. I crept through the trees and there she was."

The young man's narration took on a dreamy quality and Eric decided to discount half of what he'd say as fantasy as he refilled the tankard again.

"Raven hair swishing all around her, wearing next to nothing in a yellow skirt and tall boots, like a man but better, if ye understand."

Eric nodded with a lift of his eyebrows.

"Well, she wore a blue vestment that got sweaty," the young man continued, reddened blue eyes gleaming and speech coming faster.

"It was so wet, I could already make out how she'd look without it, but..." His hand slipped under the table to his lap. "She took it off. I swear she did."

He panted, not yet finished. "My cock was already hard enough to bore a tree trunk but...Nah, I can't tell ye the rest. She's the princess and ye wouldn't believe me anyway."

"What you tell me might help me find her," Eric said, leaning closer. "I think she'd be grateful and want to repay anyone who helped me, if ye understand."

The young man licked his lips, probably imagining an obscene reward for him from the rescued princess. "She had this red cloak. She put it on and walked over to a clump of moss. She lay down and raised her arms..." He lifted his to demonstrate. "...then put them on herself." He spread his hands on his chest with slightly curved fingers, suggesting grasping something full. "She squeezed and she started wiggling on the moss. God help me, she put a hand on her nest. She didn't go in, but she kept it there and moved her hips while her other hand pinched her pretty pink buds."

Eric's hand on the table twitched, fighting the inclination to lower it to his own lap, as he stared at the drunken young man, the flickering candle on the table highlighting the excitement in both faces.

"I nigh stepped out to offer myself to her, but she started mumbling. 'Derek,' she'd say, then Lon. She rubbed harder, eyes never opened. She was asleep. The princess of the White Valley lyin' in the open with breasts pointed up and workin' herself while she dreamed about two men on top of her."

He jerked in his seat, bumping his knees on the table and causing the bottle to spill, as he did. He gave Eric a rueful grin. "Not the first time that's happened since then. People think I piss myself but no. It's the thought of her. You understand why I don't tell this to anyone. I could be drawn and quartered for it. Rodrigo's a good man but when it's his daughter..."

"Your secret's safe with me," Eric promised him, rising from his seat, his shadow betraying a jutting in his breeches. He bought a final drink for the wretched boy.

She must be dead. Nobody so fair, rich and wenchy could still be alive. She'd be home if she could, fiddling with herself in the forest to be spotted by drunken poachers. In fact, that's probably what had happened. she'd been ravished and killed by someone who saw her. He dropped his head in silent memorium for the beautiful, bawdy princess.

As he'd sobered though, he'd realized how fanciful the poacher's tale was. What would have made a princess so reckless and why wouldn't she have had anyone guarding her? No, the young souse had come up with a clever way to get a bottle out of gullible, vigorous men. Well, he'd earned it with that story.

He rode his white stallion through the village square the next morning with the other searchers. The sun shone bright for the end of fall on clean stone buildings and walkways. Corseted women hung out of top floor windows, breasts resting on casements, to flutter scarves at the dashing riders. Eric's heart clenched comparing the bright, prosperous kingdom to his father's slaggard realm.

His jealousy festered as he entered the throne room. The slate floor might have been a jewel for its clean glow. Red carpets showed no old footprints or tattered edges. The tapestries that hung from the ceiling were tightly woven and fresh.

He approached the monarch, noting his bearing in contrast to his dissolute father. At least Eric, himself, was princely, his perfectly groomed beard and flashing topaz eyes, hickory-brown hair swept back off his noble brow. His tight, dark blue breeches and blindingly white stockings boasted his long, strong legs and he flourished his white cape with great aplomb.

He impressed the veiled queen, he noted. She clutched the arms of her gilt chair with white-knuckled intensity but she sat very well, with a high breast swooping to the exaggerated curve in the waist and tight hips that he favored. Through the gauze of her veil, he detected large green eyes that seemed to bore into him. His breeches tightened for the second time in the White Valley. Rodrigo was a lucky man. He stepped out his right foot and made a deep bow.

The king stood to make his remarks. Eric blocked him from his mind while he studied the queen. Her gown was tight enough that his experienced eye could make out the contours of her breast. He concentrated on where her areolae would be, imagining them dark, like Louisa's. She'd moved her hands from the arms of her throne to her lap, giving just a hint of the top of her legs and the enticing mound between them. The hem of her gown had somehow lifted, affording a quick glance of trim ankles. He raised his eyes to guess what might be under that veil and saw she was staring at him and probably had been while he made his assessment of her blessings.

Their eyes held as the queen rose and glided to stand next to her husband. A servant brought a bunch of hothouse edelweiss, the flower of the valley, and the king announced the queen would bestow a sprig on each of them for fortune's sake in their search.

The queen lifted her veil. Eric was first shocked, then amused as she made her modest, matronly way down the line, though he could have told his fellows about the location of the birthmark on her inner thigh and yes, her nipples were dark for a blonde.

He smirked as she stood in front of him with the virginal white flower to pin to his chest. She dropped a curtsy, her eye sidling to a door to his left. He believed she purposely pricked him with the pin. He lifted her well-manicured hand to kiss the fingers, sneaking out the tip of his tongue to touch her skin.

Rodrigo escorted his queen from the room and the searchers mingled for a few minutes, before moving to the dining hall for a last meal before beginning their journey.

Eric dawdled until the room was empty, then crossed to the door that had been indicated to him. He smiled when he turned the knob. Unlocked for him, just as she had been from the time he was sixteen.

"Imagine my surprise to find that good King Rodrigo's lovely queen was actually my own wayward mother," he said when they were alone and she'd bolted the door.

The room appeared to be a dressing area for ladies, with wardrobe screens edged in gold, couches and chairs scattered throughout and curved dressing tables laden with powders and perfumes and padding for insufficiently-filled corsets.

"Step-mother," she reminded him, unbuttoning her tight brocade bodice. "I should have known your father would send you here to search for the wealthy princess. What took him so long?"

"He sent me some time ago. I chose a long route," Eric said. The queen's corset suffered no shortage, her breast partly exposed like a pretty top of a heart. He placed a hand over it. "Bigamy agrees with you, Genevieve."

"I don't acknowledge a prior marriage," she said, stepping out of his hand and walking over to a table glittering with glass cruets and decanters. "But do I detect a note of estrangement between the doting father and adoring son?"

"If you mean do I hate him with every breath I take, the answer is yes."

She turned to him, twirling the amber liquid in her glass. "Most people come to hate Tarik. What's your reason?"

"He claimed my fiancée for himself and turned her into an opium addict."

She frowned, taking a sip of her brandy. "That is shameful, even for him. What brought on such an act?"

"You, my dear," Eric sneered. "Your leaving hurt his ego. Your leaving with his treasure made him a monster."

"He always was a monster, Eric. You could look to your mother for proof of that."

"So you say. But he played out his rage and need to reaffirm his manhood on my Louisa. Now she despises me and eats the white flower. And I don't mean edelweiss." He ripped off the boutonniere and threw it to the floor.

"Poor Louisa. Such a lovely girl." Genevieve held out her glass. "Come have a drink with me."

"I shouldn't. I have a princess to find," Eric said, bitterness still tainting his voice.

"That might be easier than you think," said Genevieve. She placed her glass on the table and spread her arms for the younger man. "Come to me."

He crossed the room to her in two long steps. She'd never been motherly, but still the closest thing to a mother's comfort he'd ever had. In the end though, there was nothing between them but lust. He kissed her angrily, biting her lip, squeezing her in arms that had never known women except as sex partners.

"Is your step-daughter as beautiful as you?" he asked, pulling down the top of her corset, her breast seeming to wink at him with familiarity. He spiraled the peachy skin with a finger that moved ever closer to the dark caramel circle, until the nipple peeked, like the hot sugar when it hardened.

"No, but she has her charms," Genevieve said as he touched the peak with his tongue, before locking his mouth on it, while his hands moved to her buttocks. He gave the other breast the same reverence.

"As I heard in the tavern." Eric flashed his knowing smile and dropped to his knees, raising Genevieve's skirts and scooting under them. His eyes lit up at the sight of long, silk-encased legs and a tantalizing top of bare thighs with white garters.

"She's the subject of village gossip? How common," said Genevieve, widening her stance to open her shaved and powdered cunt to him.

Eric loved a woman's tent. He'd been under many—lacy, stiff petticoats and hoops surrounding him as though he was the clapper of a bell. He ran his hands down her smooth legs and lapped her puckered lips. "Only among the ale-soaked and those so besotted by the sight of her that they've lost all reason and industry."

He felt the muscles tighten in her legs and at her opening under his mouth. He smiled. Jealous. He rubbed a gentle finger inside her vulva, soothing her temper. "Seeing something such as this though could return them to their senses..." He tickled her with a hasty tongue. "...or push them over the edge in delirium."

Genevieve chuckled as she threw a silken leg over his shoulder and drew him closer. "So talented. You learned well what women want."

"You provided quite an education. Who takes care of you now, Genevieve? I can't imagine you'd be satisfied with one man. Still have your tea parties?" He pushed his tongue in farther, sucking the first sweetening of her walls.

"Ahhh, that's none of your concern. Now shut up and listen and don't stop what you're doing."

He snickered. "I'm listening, but if you want me to stay under here, you must remove that heavy gown. It's like being in an oven."

"Very well," she said. The weighty brocade dropped to the floor with a thud, allowing light and air in Eric's tent. He took a deep, appreciative breath as he separated her labia to expose her inner folds. He laid his mouth over them, blowing coolness on the sensitive flesh.

Genevieve shook and tightened her buttocks, squeezing out more of her juice into his mouth. "I can tell you where she is." Eric nodded his head, his tongue dancing inside her, inching toward her beckoning clitoris.

"Kill her, leave her body out a day or two for the elements to make it look as though she was killed by an animal and bring it back to her father. Ingratiate yourself with him, become the son he's never had, then we'll kill him and you will be his heir. Wouldn't you rather rule this beautiful place than your father's God-forsaken kingdom?"

He stopped, stunned and stuck his head out from her skirts, looking up past her pointed breasts to a flushed, excited face. "You're mad."

She shook her head and picked up her glass. "I'm ruthless, not mad. Personal espionage is a specialty of mine." Eric's gaze followed her as she stooped beside him, tipping the brandy into his mouth. "And you, my darling, are the greatest beneficiary of my cunning."

She rose and strolled over to a chaise lounge against the far wall in the rectangular room, her skirts whistling with her movements. The couch reminded him of the one where she'd first performed fellatio on him.

"What do you mean by that?" Eric asked, climbing to his feet.

Genevieve lifted a corner of her mouth in a snide smile. "Come here, Eric. It's time you learned about your parentage and why you're obliged to me."

"My parentage? He stomped over to sit next to her and she snuggled close, massaging his groin.

"Tarik is small-minded. He thinks any man who isn't taller than the average woman is deformed."

Eric nodded. "That's why he has them work in his mines. They don't need to be tall for that. What does that have to do with me?"

Genevieve's smile grew as she moved her hand faster. Eric squirmed, the friction heating his genitals.

"Queen Margaret loved her baby boy…" Eric smiled, taking a drink of Genevieve's brandy. It warmed his heart to think of a loving mother. "...despite his head and extremities being so much bigger than his body, but Tarik obsessed over it. He didn't want a deformed son representing him to the world, so I suggested an alternative."

She pulled down Eric's tight knee pants and grasped his long, swollen cock. She licked the top of it and grinned over at him.

"No more mystery, Genevieve," he snapped, disgusted for his physical reaction to her when he was mentally repulsed. "Tell me what you mean."

She stretched his legs out, gathering handfuls of crinoline around her hips as she mounted his cock. "You were the alternative. After Margaret died, he took his short, big-headed son into the village to the dirty room of a drunken whore who had a baby boy lying in a soiled blanket, feet away from her bed where she took any man with a farthing."

Eric frowned as Genevieve ground on him, her breasts bouncing and stomach muscles curving in and out in time to her panting breaths. "He took you and left the other one and you became Price Eric, to grow tall and handsome, with the fairest women eager to open their legs to you."

Eric threw her off him and shot up from the lounge, chest heaving and cock dangling. "No. No, you're mad!"

"I was there, Darling," Genevieve said, rising to her feet. "I found you, a boy born the same day as Margaret's. I'd meant for us to eventually rule Tarik's kingdom together, but life with him was more tedious than I could bear. Rodrigo's wife died, and a better opportunity presented itself. The search for the princess is a fortunate accident in bringing us together again, just as I always planned." She smiled as she moved closer to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his half-naked one. "Isn't that future worth the life of one immodest princess?"

The unyielding jaw and narrowed eyes. Eric looked down on her face, registering the changes in her. She wasn't hardened, but sharpened and ice cold, like winter mountains or a broken glass. And this room. It was the first one he'd seen her in without windows for the sun to beam on her silvery blonde hair and soften her callousness. It was appropriate for her, no light and designed for subterfuge, just like her heart. But he remembered Babette's story of Genevieve's vengeance and wanted to avoid that.

He pulled his arms around her thin, sharp waist. "No one else can find her?"

"No, she's well-hidden with small miners."

"How do I find her?"

Genevieve grinned as she stood on tiptoe to lick his ear and give him directions.

"Find her and return to me." She laid a hand on his sculpted face. "Rodrigo will love you. I gave you a father once. Now, I'll give you a better one."


End file.
